Editor's Note: Marvel Apes #3 arrives in stores tomorrow, October 1.

When you reach the point where your research into non-human, primate versions of Marvel superheroes produces the phrase: "Not all taxa, however, are considered to be clades," it's probably indicative that you're over-thinking the problem and need to take a few minutes to enjoy a refreshing beverage.

Still, as much as this story has going for it in terms of drama, pathos, narrative twists and tragic puns, there are too many nagging omissions to ignore. Bachs is a slave to detail, but here's a detail too conveniently left out: how do these critters get around? Apart from the Fantasticar, some sort of advanced jet (of the Quin-variety), and Zemook's flying bombs, we're given no clue as to the preferred modes of conveyance. This is the sort of minor quibble that naturally leads to a larger problem: how on Earth did these primates manage to develop a society in lock-step with that of humans? Despite fundamental physical and psychological differences, both of which are on ample display in the structure of Monkhattan, they have a near identical history, as the myriad probabilities required to have produced an Axis & Allies version of the second World War demonstrates.

The first strike is, of course, the lack of opposable thumbs, though many characters, including Marty, are portrayed as having remarkably human appendages (despite the general shock at seeing Fiona's hands). Our simple ability to grasp has allowed for fine motor skills first seen in carving wood, shaping stones, and drawing simple scenes on cave walls. Further refinement led to more subtle arts and crafts, from written language (including both mathematics and music) to watchmaking. Indeed, clockworks are a supreme achievement in our development. Without the ability to grasp, however, it seems unlikely if not impossible that we would have reached our present level of civilisation.

Overlooking basic physical differences, the Apes (and monkeys, gibbons, and macaques) are portrayed as having a closer relationship with the natural world. Green is everywhere, growing from the sides of skyscrapers, and restaurants include enormous trees with tables set in the branches. Apart from occasional megalomaniacal aspirations, human conflict tends to stem from a lack of, or desire for, basic resources: water, lumber, game, arable land, minerals, etc. Much of this want and need stems from man having a poor record of conservation and equilibrium. For presumed creatures of reason, when it comes to the things that sustain us, our species has demonstrated very little reason. Yet it is in part this genetic insanity that has driven us ever forward, creating more and more efficient means of acquiring our goals. If the goal is food or the land upon which to grow it, we have complex machines to first acquire land (from pointed sticks to projectile weapons to nerve gas) and then exploit it (a combine harvester is truly a mechanism to behold). Yet a race more in tune with its surroundings and less prone to waste and excess would have evolved in a much different way. No petroleum based economics, for one thing. Yet they have modern cities, as grand a testament to waste and excess as one might readily imagine. It's a poser, and forces one to conclude that in the hands of a different writer--or perhaps a different editorial structure that would have allowed a writer the opportunity to explore these differences--this might have been a very different book. Kesel was hampered from the beginning in having to produce something with sufficient comedy that utilised established characters in a familiar way, but that doesn't excuse a missed opportunity to have explored these differences.

There's an issue with internal logic, too, unfortunately. Prior to the Invaders being vampirified, we're led to believe that the world in general was a less dark place. The implication being that some attempt toward rehabilitation would have been the norm rather than beating villains half to death. Except we're left with a history that produced Hitler, and whatever atrocities Captain America and his friends might perpetrate are no darker than those committed by the Nazis. Further, if evil lives at the uppermost tier of their system of justice, and villains are treated so harshly (death or conversion appear to be their sole options), why are there villains? Had Doc Ook simply been so much more intelligent than the "heroes" that he operated as a free agent until fate intervened (his actions certainly didn't paint him as terribly cunning)? If there are, or should be, no villains, what purpose do heroes serve?

Do humans exist in this world? While Sue Richards is marked as an object of shame and regret, her appearance on national television doesn't throw society into a paroxysm of fear and madness; yet the small crowd who first spotted Fiona behaved as though the world was about to end. If humans do exist, one wonders equally about their role and condition and what classification they've been given. If these Apes had a Rome, it's unlikely that they would have named their genetic subordinates "homo sapiens sapiens."

Finally, funny for funny's sake can sometimes fall flat, as exemplified by the callsign of WWII-era's Captain America: "Goodall! Beppo! Zero! Zero! Three!" Jane Goodall was ten years old at the time he said this, so presuming that a parallel anthropologist exists... well, you get it. Beppo, of course, was a super-monkey who wouldn't be created for another fifteen years. I suppose that Cap could've been quoting Byron, but that's a wee stretch.

None of these problems interefere with the goofy fun of the story, of course. Kesel continues to weave a clever tale of Apes Gone Wrong. The story of Cap's co-option is chilling. The superhero "Outcasts" serve to further expand the book's dramatic complexity while providing us with a side for whom we can genuinely root. There are a couple of groaners to help remind us what we're really here for, too; I was anticipating the "like unto a thing of Iron!" bit, but the disturbing wink at an infamous sequence from the Ultimates managed to blindside me. You feel guilty for laughing, but then you don't...

Ramon Bachs turns in yet another over the top performance. With so much to do, and so much of it done so well, from the scenery to the dramatic changes in mood to the simply insane number of characters he's called upon to render, Two Monkey Paws Up! hardly seems sufficient. Guerrero's understanding and utilisation of colour and shading serve as a near perfect underpinning to Bachs' linework.

As much fun as this is, now that the beans have been spilled there's a worry that the only direction left is downhill. Next issue will no doubt involve a Big Ape Fight (very big if Grow-rilla shows up) between the Outcasts and Ape-vengers, with the Invaders continuing their plot to cross over to the human world (just in time to meet the Marvel Zombies, perhaps, or is that making coincidence a little too coincidental?).

Oh, and there's another back-up feature written by Tom Peyer. Mike McKone takes up the pencils in Karl Kesel's absence and while it all looks alright, the story is even more pointless than the previous "Official History of the Marvel Apes Universe" installments. This one focusses on Iron Mandrill (...) and some of the events of Secret Wars II, which raises the question, "how do you parody self-parody?" It's pretty sad. It also prompts me to mention that, once again, the book's rating is not weighted but exclusive to the first (main) story. Except for the in-house Marvel parodies (the Insimians are Coming!) tacked on at the end, you're better off closing the book when you've finished the feature story. Then carefully open the back cover to see the latter funny bits. Careful, though.

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